


naïve

by ardentdread



Series: pandemonium [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, F/M, Harry Potter Dies, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentdread/pseuds/ardentdread
Summary: He knows that her heart belongs to someone else, and whatever they currently have is merely a moment that is passing by. He knows it will soon end, just like everything else in his life: his magic, his parents, and his name. It is only a matter of time before they take her away from him too.





	naïve

He swears to whatever being in the heavens that he has never felt relief as strong as he does now the moment she returns.

 

He had been staring at his window ever since she left him that night, occasionally stepping outside his dilapidated house, and then heading back to the murk of his household, as if doing so would change her mind and she would come back to his arms. He would have held her tight, and most probably never let her go. She would breathe against him, he would feel her respirations through his shirt and he would suppress an involuntary shudder. The unwanted, evident twitch of his muscles she would sense and she would smile a small smile. Although, it would never be seen by him, but he would know that she was offering a miniscule piece of appreciation for his company.

 

But, alas, she did not come back and he never got to feel anything but the frost of her existence.

 

He had always expected her absence after they touched and he had memorized the art of her form – he always had. He never really thought much about it during their first encounter, but her visits have become repeated and it led him to that 3'o clock over-thinking the muggles say. Ever since then, he wondered what goes through her head when she bites her lip, strangling the moan that builds skyscrapers of the sound in her throat. Does she think about him when she throws her head back in ecstasy – that accurate amount of euphoria he gives her? Does she cover up the numerous love bites he gives when she exposes her neck to him as he grinded his hips with hers with muggle make-up concealers or does she hide them with magic? Does she expose them to the eyes of the world?

 

He would close his eyes then, remembering the hard truth.

 

She is always the first one to leave. After their coming apart and ceasing shudders, he would pretend to fall asleep and he had always wondered if she does too. He would turn to his side of the bed, his back against her, and he knows she would not move until she hears his laboured breathing come to a halt. Then she would stand, gather her things. He would hear the shuffling of their carelessly strewn clothes on the floor, the sound of denim on skin as she slid her legs into it, and then the accustomed sigh. He always thought it was directed at him, that sigh and his deliberation constantly vacillates between confusion and remorse; confusion because he really isn't certain what she wants, and regret because he has no knowledge of her sincere desires.

 

He knows that her heart belongs to someone else, and whatever they currently have is merely a moment that is passing by. He knows it will soon end, just like everything else in his life: his magic, his parents, and his name. It is only a matter of time before they take her away from him too.

 

He never knew who 'they' were.

 

She is stepping out of her car when he throws the front door open. He does not even bother covering up the red scratches on his forearms, the dark circles under his eyes. They are mere scars on his body, and he already has too many marks on his skin that the wounds his nails would give no longer bothered him anymore.

 

The look on her face shows her genuine surprise to see him already outside, but it is quickly replaced by her indifference and he suddenly knows that something has shifted. The quirk of her lip downwards, the inescapable fear that shines when she glances at him, and the subtle quaking of her body tell him so.

 

The silence blankets the atmosphere almost immediately. The instant her mouth fastens and her outbreath is only what is left of the memory of the word she would have uttered, she looks away from him. In front of her, she presses her fingers together, cracks them quietly. Her voluminous hair hides her face from his scrutiny. The pierce of his regard grows in curiosity and she does not see it.

 

He knows she does.

 

"Granger," he mutters.

 

She purses her lips, looks at him with the pretence of unconcern, "Malfoy."

 

The stillness of it all screams in frustration. The ambiance slowly drifts to slumber, whispering sweet nothings to its lonesome self, and they are both unaware of the chaos the Fates' insight whispers in their ears.

 

A flash of impatience briefly mars his face. He crosses his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

 

"To be frank," she says, hesitant. She meets his eyes. "I don't know."

 

He doesn't know why his face suddenly grows hot, why his fingers have curled to form fists that look as hard as they are in impact. He is not sure if he should grab her shoulders and shake her, questioning her words, analyzing every letter if only to discover another layer of secrecy behind the first; or if he must endure the searing anger that sets his veins ablaze, if only to let the piece in his heart rest as it had burned and turned into black, crimpled up as the smoulder lingered.

 

"Then why are you in my property?" He asks calculatingly and she scoffs. "If you don't know what you came for, you might as well appa – get out of here."

 

She shifts her stance. "And then Ron said I was a bossy know-it-all." His eyes widen. She rolls her eyes. "To think I'm not actually the only one," she gasps dramatically, pressing her hand on her chest. "I'm affronted, Malfoy," she drops her hand and crosses her arms in front of her, "by you of all people."

 

"It worked out before, you know," he tells her intentionally, overlooking the slight. "I'd provoke you; call you names that are considered blasphemy in your circle –" he waves his hand. "You'd condemn me with your long line of offenses and I'd ridicule you again," he pauses, wavers. "We were like that."

 

The hesitation returns in her voice and she sounds like she is strangled. "Yeah," she directs her gaze to the weeds that stuck out in between the slim slits of the timber entryway. "We were."

 

"Tell me, Granger," he says. The urging edge of his voice made her glance up and redirect her attention to him, and he buries the satisfaction of seeing the alighting curiosity and unveiled suspicion in her eyes. "What's changed?"

 

Eyes narrowing pre-emptively, she merely thins her lips, tying her tongue simply to readdress the question with the attempted ineffable silence.

 

But Draco was having none of the reserve. The absence of noise was beginning to damage his ears with its loud, perpetual ringing, and he's opted that he has had enough. The need to know the truth that lies in the bed of her tongue and the shrill of her voice, he decided, must be let out. He knows that there is a reason behind her stays – which he decided was undying and continual. The candour simply inhabits the inside her mind, and it is loyal of its territory.

 

Her response of stillness wants him to forcefully grab his hair and rip them off of his scalp, but he holds himself, prays to whatever divinity in the sky that he steadies the persistent instability of his emotions, wishes that he will not do anything rash like pushing her away, analogous to what has happened previously.

 

If only she would remove the walls she'd built, forget Potter and Weasley who are too dead and deeply buried somewhere immoral by the Dark Lord's toadies. If only she would turn her back on the world, and give him a chance.

 

"Granger," he prods, straining at the leash, "what happened after we turned everything into nothing but residue?"

 

What happened after the blood of many dried up on your hands and you only smiled at me with your red-rimmed teeth? What happened when the fire danced on your fingers, you had no wand and you've done nothing but look at your hands and it was suddenly there? Why can't we no longer do magic? Why am I here instead of Malfoy manor? Why are you sad and cold all the time? What's changed?"

 

She is still looking at him with wide eyes. "I don't know."

 

"You're lying."

 

"No, I am not –"

 

"Yes, you are." He cuts her off sharply, glaring daggers at her stoic expression. "Everything you are, right now is a fucking pretense," he hisses. "You can fool Potter, The fucking Order, or the Dark Lord into thinking that you're nothing but stone, but you can't fool me."

 

She is rigid, but her face remains uncharacteristically distant and he does not point it out, for maybe it might be part of her act. "I'm not fooling anyone, Malfoy," she answers primly, almost haughtily, and to think that he's had the more potent reputation. "The only fool here is you."

 

"How dare you –"

 

"Look around you, Malfoy," she says ominously. "I am the only person who knows of your existence, and you are the only individual who knows of mine." At his looming expression and hardened fists, with a nefarious mien, she covertly continues, "We are dead to the Wizarding world, and it is better this way."

 

The remark lights his heart with wrath, he quivers as he speaks. "You don't have the right to manipulate my life, Granger!"

 

"And your parents could?" she retorts with a snort, as if she found the declaration of his liberty disputable. He momentarily falters, and he realizes that she has the upper hand. "Don't be more asinine as I think you are, Malfoy," she carries on. "You were manipulated by your parents' ideals into thinking that you are above us all; a Black and a Malfoy, affluent – which permitted you provision of anything you desired." She smiles at him and he thinks that it looks improper with her darkened expression. "Ah, yes, and don't forget the blood line."

 

She steps forward, growing closer to his body. "Tell me, Draco," she begins the subject as if it is confidential, and perhaps it is, he thinks, for the way her eyes grow more surreptitious and malicious makes him swallow the lump of something he can't identify down his oesophagus, and wish for air. They are so close and the only space left is the area between his chest and hers. Her hand travels from his hair and her fingers trace his jaw. She touches him with a gentleness he didn't think she would have. It was as if his skin might break like glass if she pressed too hard. Her eyes look right through him; pierce his soul with an arrow drenched in poison. "Does having blood as pure as innocence, make you –" she tilts her head, a morbid smile on her lips "- unsullied?"

 

He does not answer.

 

"Tell me, lovely, virtuous Draco," she grisly laughed. "Don't give me the silent treatment. You didn't give me that the last time I was here."

 

He stands by his choice. He refuses to answer. The beautiful witch in front of him may bribe him with her intimidating tactic and truth, but he will not answer. What is left of his pride will not waver.

 

"I asked first, Granger," he fires. "You gave me the silent treatment first; I'm not exempted from it either."

 

She takes a step back, allowing the wide space between them to return, filling it with calm air. Her hands are raised in front of her in mock submission. "Touché."

 

"You might as well answer it," he decides, thinking. "Answer my question, and I'll answer yours."

 

The smile from her face hastily disappears, and the façade of stoic apathy reappears. He ignores it.

 

"What's changed, Granger?" he asks again, his heart filling with an unidentifiable emotion.

 

He can feel the hope that blankets the atmosphere. He sees the picture of her smile of genuine happiness in his head and he catches it in his hand. He holds it dear, and she is there next to him, and he smells her fragrance and it is wonderful.

 

But her lour is back and her eyes are unmoving.

 

"I don't know, Malfoy."


End file.
